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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662755">Muscle Memory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peas_god/pseuds/peas_god'>peas_god</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I just love soulmate AUs so much [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, In which prompto is also a toy maker, M/M, POV Prompto Argentum, Slow Burn, aka how many aus can i cram into this fic, as much as 6 chapters of fic can offer slow burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:47:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,816</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peas_god/pseuds/peas_god</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a legend about it, if Prompto remembers correctly, of how reincarnation and soulmates became closely tied together. It began with a king, bearing a crown made with light, willing to sacrifice anything for his people. As most legends with martyr kings and merciless prophecies, it ended with the king dying for his people, and the Gods rewarding his altruism.</p><p>As Gods were to do, the reward was both a gift and a curse. It lets people find their soulmate, the one person that completes them in a way other people can’t, in the most emotionally taxing way possible.</p><p>You find your soulmate by experiencing their past life’s memories and then experiencing your own when you meet them in your current life.</p><p>In Prompto’s humble opinion, Gods suck.</p><p> <br/>Or: the one where you’re reborn with the memories of your soulmate that you get through dreams and you can only get your past memories if you meet each other again in this lifetime</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gladiolus Amicitia &amp; Prompto Argentum, Prompto Argentum &amp; Aranea Highwind, Prompto Argentum &amp; Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum &amp; Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Prompto Argentum &amp; Regis Lucis Caelum, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I just love soulmate AUs so much [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1053017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>134</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prompto Argentum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing that greets him when he opens his eyes is fire and the heavy metallic smell of blood.</p><p>Prompto feels like he’s underwater- everything feels muted, floaty, almost unreal. A roar of a big fire catches his attention and the heat from it grounds him just enough to process that he was lying on the ground, surrounded by people. He can’t make out their faces for some reason, can’t understand what they’re saying either.</p><p>It’s like hearing a language that’s very familiar but only catching the meaning of one or two words every sentence which made the meaning overall disjointed and lacking any <em>sense</em>.</p><p>The strong scent of blood worries him but the strangers crowding him worries him more. They were wearing suits and something about them feels dangerous. Something deep within him knew that these people were made to protect, the knowledge ingrained in his bones. He trusts these people with his life. He doesn’t quite know why, and most importantly who they serve, but it’s a belief that his sluggish mind latches on.</p><p>Suddenly, he feels panic and fear pounding in his chest and the floaty feeling going down the drain. He should not be surrounded by these people so obviously, shouldn’t be laying on the ground with the smell of blood stuck in his nose in the first place.</p><p>Something horrible had happened.</p><p>He feels his head turn, almost as if he has no control over his body. His body felt as heavy as lead and any actions, even the rise and fall of his chest, felt forced and not his own. He sees a man in dark clothes with an even darker cape. He feels a tinge of comfort and relief but it pales in comparison to the fear making its home in his chest. A type of fear that leaves him paralyzed and unresponsive. It barely registers that the man is fighting a huge snakelike creature but it does and for some reason, it doesn’t strike him as something that’s odd.</p><p>The fear feels cloying and makes it so so hard to breathe.</p><p>It was night, he was laying on the ground, the scent of blood heavy, his chest rising and falling shallowly and the air he breathes in and out never seemed<em> enough</em>, and a man was conjuring weapons from thin air fighting a creature that was half-woman, half-snake.</p><p>The next thing he knew, the man was above him. Yelling something familiar yet not. He can’t make out the words but it was comforting, like the old t-shirt he likes wearing when he felt like the world was a little too much for him. The man’s face is drenched in sweat, forehead creasing in worry and fear heavy in his dark green eyes.</p><p>Prompto sees the man’s face blur, darkness creeping up in his vision. He hears the man’s voice pitch in fear but it fades until the only thing that greets him is darkness and the almost deafening sound of his beating heart.</p><p>His breathing is labored and loud and he can't believe that it's picking up from its impossible speed and-</p><p>Something big was coming and he feels it swell deep within him.</p><p>He feels sharp, cutting pain on his back and he screams.</p><p>Prompto sits up from his bed, chest heaving in desperate gasps, and feels nothing but pain and fear and relief and pain and pain and-</p><p>It takes a while for him to calm down, to turn his heaving into long calming breaths. He feels something cooling on his face and realizes belatedly that he was crying.</p><p>He clenches his fists on his blanket, grounding himself.</p><p>He was in his apartment, on his bed. He was gripping a blanket which was a gift. It used to be a garish orange but time and multiple rounds of washings had made the color almost peach and less stabbing your eyes bright. It’s soft as hell. It didn’t match his dark blue bed sheets but it was from his mother and very comforting. With her gone, this was one of the few things that reminded him of her that he let himself keep. He could never throw it out or cut it up and use it as rags, even if it became threadbare and became more smooth than fuzzy. He loved his mother and he loves the blanket she had given him. It reminds him of home and simpler times.</p><p>His back hurts.</p><p>Prompto feels his even breathing becoming less forced and easier to maintain. He relaxes his clenched fists and absentmindedly smoothens out the crinkles formed on his blanket. He keeps one hand in a petting motion, letting the softness ground him more and uses his other hand to grab his phone beside his pillow to check the time.</p><p>2:45 AM.</p><p>Prompto sighs and locks his phone, placing it facedown beside him. He lays back down in an attempt to relax and get a little more sleep.</p><p>He turns to his side. Another soulmate dream, another thing to place on the pile of who his soulmate is. It seems like the hopeful thought of his soulmate being boring and normal is a very, very improbable one. He sighs and closes his eyes. It would be a few hours before he needs to get up and even just resting his eyes would be better than picking apart what seemed to be a very traumatizing memory.</p><p>He does manage to get back to sleep, the low dull pain he feels on his back never leaving him.</p><p>In the morning, the pain comes and goes. It does become a minor annoyance in his morning run but can be easily put off his mind if he focuses more on his surroundings and the steady rhythm of his feet on the pavement. It doesn’t stop him from his usual activities.</p><p>He tries his best to ignore it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It goes like this.</p><p>It began with dreams. They’re nothing too impactful; Most of the dreams were mundane and habitual. Studying, playing, napping. Normal things that normal people do.</p><p>But these dreams weren’t normal, no. These dreams were the memories of your soulmate. A past reincarnation of your soulmate, that is. The older you get, the more intricate the dreams become. The more mature you grow, the more <em> stuff  </em>your brain can accommodate.</p><p>It’s hell to imagine if these dreams came when he was a teenager, to be honest. Emotionally charged dreams and wild hormones will not mix well together.</p><p>The thing about soulmates and reincarnation is that its… Weird. At least, that’s what Prompto thinks of it. Living life as a different person is odd as it is but having memories and experiencing another person’s life without any form of consent? It absolutely sounds insane if it wasn’t the norm for most people.</p><p>He was just starting to get his dreams at the ripe age of 22 and it already took a sudden turn for the worse.</p><p>There was a legend about it, if Prompto remembers correctly, of how reincarnation and soulmates became closely tied together. It began with a king, bearing a crown made with light, willing to sacrifice anything for his people. As most legends with martyr kings and merciless prophecies, it ended with the king dying for his people, and the Gods rewarding his altruism.</p><p>As Gods were to do, the reward was both a gift and a curse. It lets people find their soulmate, the one person that completes them in a way other people can’t, in the most emotionally taxing way possible.</p><p>You find your soulmate by experiencing their past life’s memories and then experiencing your own when you meet them in your current life.</p><p>In Prompto’s humble opinion, Gods suck.</p><p>“You look like hell,” Aranea tells Prompto as he snaps out of mindlessly staring out of a display window while leaning on a counter. She raises an eyebrow. Her nails were painted black today, he notes as she crosses her arms and gives him a look.</p><p>He didn’t notice her entering the shop, even with the telltale chiming the bell above the entrance makes every time a customer enters. Its something he installed as soon as he took over the shop. He knew he could get too focused on whatever he was doing and the bell did wonders in signaling him that someone was here and bound to ask a thing or two.</p><p>“You okay, shortcake?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, just another soulmate dream,” Prompto straightens, he didn’t even realize he was slouching in the first place. “It was… not a good memory for them.”</p><p>“With how pale you look right now? I’m not surprised.”</p><p>He gives her a smile, appreciates how she doesn’t dig any deeper. Soulmate dreams are deeply personal and he doesn’t exactly want to share what he went through.</p><p>He wouldn’t know what to tell Aranea in the first place if she asks.</p><p>Prompto knew why she was here though.</p><p>“Thanks for worrying, give me a minute to grab Dog, yeah?”</p><p>She makes a shooing motion with her hand and Prompto quickly makes his way to the workshop deeper inside his shop. The workshop is a little cramped, with toy parts and paints scattered, but he knows where everything is. Smoothly ducking under a number of puppets he left stringed up on the ceiling, he picks up a stuffed wolf on a paint-splattered wooden table and makes his way back to the front.</p><p>He ducks on his way out to avoid the puppets again out of habit.</p><p>“Here’s Dog, almost as good as new!” he exclaims. Prompto holds Dog with two hands and lifts it in front of his face. He pitches his voice in a higher tone and says, “Hi Aranea! Prompto tried his best to fix me up! Don’t I look as cute as ever!”</p><p>Aranea scoffs. “At least he didn’t make you uglier, did he?” she asks the toy, willing to play along with his theatrics.</p><p>Prompto opens his mouth in mock offense, sputters, and says, “Hey! How dare you! I’m very good at what I do, as a matter of fact.”</p><p>He gives Aranea a small smile. “Here she is.”</p><p>Prompto hands Dog the stuffed wolf over to Aranea. He sees her run her hands over the new fur he gave Dog, her eyes softening as she traces over the new nose he stitched in.</p><p>Surrounded by toys and color, Aranea, with her dark clothes and red boots, looks almost approachable and soft and not the woman he knows that can and will use her heels as something to stab with.</p><p>Seconds tick by and Prompto feels uneasiness rearing its ugly head. He never dealt with quietness really well and soon finds himself giving into the questions that forced themselves out of his mouth.</p><p>“But for realsies, how is her new look?” he starts, his eyes darting between Aranea and Dog, “ I tried to match the color of the fur she originally had but I had to make do with the nearest shade I can find. Is she soft enough? Squishy enough? Is the texture of her fur bothering you? I tried to choose something that I thought was close enough to the description you said she used to have and-”</p><p>“She was in a sorry state when I brought her in Prompto, she’s as close as I remember she used to be when I first got her.” Aranea gives him a long look, long enough for him to feel a bit of dread bubbling inside him. Her harsh look is a complete opposite of the words she said. Even when he knows she means well, Aranea always had an intense stare and being on the receiving end of it had always made him uneasy, and he guesses it always will.</p><p>He looks at the stuffed bear behind her.</p><p>“Look at me, Prompto.”</p><p>He can’t help but to tense at her words, years of friendship signaling him that this was an order from her and he’s screwed if he didn’t follow it. “Looking!”</p><p>She gives Prompto a small smile, her sharp eyes softening into something he almost can call fondness but maybe- he can’t exactly tell, to be honest. It was rare, for Aranea to let herself be soft or be something as close to being soft. She was all sharp smiles and even sharper words. The world hadn’t been kind to her. He knew she forged herself into the woman she is now, taking her future into her own hands and clawing her way out of the hell hole she was born into.</p><p>Prompto feels small with the weight he finds himself pinned with her eyes.</p><p>“Thank you for bringing back something that I thought I lost. Dog was one of the few things I had to call my own as a kid.”</p><p>Prompto sees her thumbs circling over Dog’s fur and feels his tensing shoulders dropping, “Yeah, thank you for trusting me with her.”</p><p>“Just accept the ‘thank you’.”</p><p>Prompto laughs and gives her a big smile, this wonderful woman who refused to let the world break her. “Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome. That’s what friends are for, right?”</p><p>“I’m still going to pay you, friends or no,” Aranea says as she places Dog on the counter near the register, patting her head and Prompto makes his way behind it. He bends and grabs a red ribbon inside a box below the counter and he ties the ribbon neatly on Dog. He winks at Aranea when he finishes.</p><p>“A little extra gift from me.”</p><p>Aranea has a fondness for red but Prompto sees her roll her eyes as he places Dog inside a cloth bag. He doesn’t comment on it, knowing full well that none of this really annoys her. Aranea pays way above the amount they agreed on but he knows she won’t accept it if he forces her to return her money. She’ll only end up offended if he did.</p><p>Years of friendship did have its perks, mostly on knowing when to push a woman that can give as good, and even better, as she gets.</p><p>That doesn’t stop Prompto from stopping her from placing anything in the tip box, however.</p><p>“We both know what you paid is already enough, Aranea.”</p><p>“You know that won’t stop me. Think of it as payment for the ribbon.” Aranea closes her wallet and pointedly places it back into her pocket.</p><p>Prompto shakes his head and points at her accusingly, “It’s just a ribbon and it was supposed to be a gift!”</p><p>“You do know that won’t stop me,” Aranea says as she takes the cloth bag and stares at him, a challenge clear in her eyes.</p><p>Prompto knows when he’s fighting a losing battle and just sighs.</p><p>“Yeah, I know.”</p><p>Aranea smirks, all sharp and smug and exactly her. “Just accept it, shortcake.”</p><p>“This is me accepting and it’s not my fault that you like wearing heels that could kill a man!” he exclaims, joining her as she makes her way out of his shop.</p><p>As soon as Prompto finds his way beside her, she reaches over and swats his arm. “That’s the point.”</p><p>It’s a short trek towards the entrance but it has always been a habit to walk out with Aranea. Prompto doesn’t see her often, with her rising in the ranks of her job and him with the shop. He’ll take what little time he has with her.</p><p>“Hey, Prompto?”</p><p>Prompto stops walking, turns, and faces Aranea. They were just behind the entrance, close enough that Prompto can hear the quiet roars of the cars passing by his shop.</p><p>Prompto tilts his head, “Hm?”</p><p>“You do know you can talk to me about anything, right?”</p><p>Aranea always looked out for him, even if she can be rough sometimes. Prompto feels warmth blooming in his chest. Aranea might have a bite worse than her bark but she cares. It is what makes men follow her through thick and thin, makes people follow her leadership without question.</p><p>Prompto gives her a smile, soft and different from his usual sunny grins.</p><p>She cares and he loves her a little more for it.</p><p>“I do, thanks Aranea.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Prompto starts closing the shop at 5 PM. He flips the sign at the entrance to ‘closed’ and grabs a broom inside the cabinet where he keeps all the cleaning materials, just beside the entrance to his workshop.</p><p>Not many customers visited today but it was expected. It’s a slow season and he doesn’t mind the inactivity since it gives him time to work on the other toys under his care. He may own a toy shop, more of a stuffed toy shop to be honest, but he focuses more on repair and restoration. It feels different, working with toys so worn out because of love and care. Each toy had a story and he loves working it out. Even the toys left abandoned, donated in libraries and orphanages and left broken and torn apart, had stories to tell.</p><p>Besides stuffed toys, he holds a fondness for wooden trains too.</p><p>In his free time, he visits the orphanage a train ride away and helps them mend the very loved toys in their care. When the shop’s done good, he brings toys during Christmas. Aranea grew up in that orphanage and he always had a soft spot for children.</p><p>Prompto lets his mind wander while he cleans up the shop. Aranea brought him to that orphanage years ago to help with their Christmas Party. Even as a teenager, Aranea was the helping sort in her own gruff way. It wasn’t really extravagant but there was no shortage of things to help with. He was still learning how to make toys back then, but he tried to do his best to at least bring small, easy to make toys for the children. He just perfected making small chicken figurines so there were a lot of them given away. Seeing the joy of the children for something so simple had floored him and to this day he makes an effort to swing by the orphanage when he can.</p><p>He gives out tiny wooden figurines for the children if he can since then. Still mostly chickens, as a little reminder of his first gifts, but more colorful and detailed. They were mostly made from wood scraps and well worth the effort. Nothing much happens in his life so helping the orphanage and spending his time with kids isn’t, and never will be, a chore for him.</p><p>Prompto accidentally elbows a small stuffed brown bear on a shelf and mutters a quick “Sorry,” before leaning the broom on the wall and bending down, fully intent on bringing back the bear on the display. He feels a slight twinge at his back that makes him pause. </p><p>After a beat, he picks up the bear.</p><p>It has been a few days since his last soulmate dream. His back still hurts now and again and he’s afraid that the pain will never go away. Prompto holds the bear with both hands, rubs his thumbs over the bear’s soft fur, and lets out a sigh.</p><p>He honestly hoped that his soulmate had a normal and quiet life but it hasn’t even been a year since his first soulmate dream and it was time to stop lying to himself. It was also time to stop ignoring the very traumatic no good day his soulmate had in that clearing with the great roaring fire.</p><p>Prompto traces the bear’s eyes with his thumbs. His soulmate dreams had been idyllic so far and the only reason that he knew his dreams were his soulmate’s past memories is how luxury and this sense of being raised to be someone great seemed to be part of their daily life. Prompto grew up in a small apartment with his mother and grandfather, right above the shop. His grandfather originally owned the shop and with his passing, it became Prompto’s. It was a little bit cramped, with all the toys his grandfather dragged upstairs even with the workshop downstairs, but it was filled with love and warmth.</p><p>His soulmate’s home was the complete opposite. Luxurious, extravagant, elegant. Even if Prompto was raised in a frugal household, he knew expensive things and furniture when he saw them. He had an eye for detail and it was a knack that his grandfather heavily praised him for and what encouraged Prompto to pick up toy making. His soulmate was loaded, that was for sure.</p><p>His soulmate was also very lonely.</p><p>Prompto knew what loneliness looked like. He had enough dreams of just sitting in a very long and ornate table all alone, disappointment heavy in his heart. It was a huge difference compared with the four-person wooden table Prompto had growing up. He had fond memories of that table, with its countless paint splatters, nicks, bumps, and one rickety leg. Prompto’s childhood was chaotic and colorful and filled to the brim with easy affection from both his mother and grandfather and his soulmate’s memories pales sadly in comparison. They were stuffy, formal, and distant.</p><p>His soulmate always had somewhere to go to, a tutor to please, a lesson to go to, and a skill to master. His soulmate was… busy. All the time. The little free time they had was spent playing video games. His soulmate never went out to play with other kids, as far as he can tell, and he feels a profound sadness swell within him because of it. It always made him sad, seeing kids not being kids. This was his soulmate and he hurts for them. His soulmate was being raised with a heavy responsibility on their shoulders and Prompto aches with this knowledge.</p><p>That night was awful, simply speaking. Prompto feels a stab of dread with the thought that maybe that was his soulmate’s last night of living because the pain left such a lasting effect in his soulmate that Prompto <em> still </em> feels his lower back flaring up and it has been <em> days</em>. </p><p>Children have always died and will continue to die. Prompto knows this but he has trouble accepting it.<em> Can't accept it.</em> It may be true but he didn't accept it while he was in front of Aranea, years before, with her spilling her secrets and trauma as a child and he can't accept it now. Even moreso that this is his soulmate. His soulmate.</p><p>
  <em> His. Soulmate. </em>
</p><p>He refuses to accept the fact that there was a possibility that his soulmate died as a <em> child </em>.</p><p>It takes a while of vacantly staring at the bear’s beady eyes for him to find his composure. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath with his mouth, and releases it through his nose. Prompto places the bear back to its usual place and picks up the broom. He continues sweeping, the whisper of the broom on the floor a familiar and calming sound.  It wasn’t all so bad, honestly. His soulmate was a happy kid even with the responsibility crowning their head and even with the awful night that haunted Prompto’s actual dreams. He was an outsider looking in, after all, and his dreams were only pieces of a bigger picture.</p><p>He refuses to accept that his soulmate died so early, will <em> never </em> accept it.</p><p>He finishes cleaning up and returns the broom in its usual place. Prompto locks the entrance and makes his way towards the workshop. There are toys to be made, bears to stuff, and blocks to paint. He had a wooden train set he was dying to paint so he gently places the thoughts about his soulmate at the back of his mind. The painting had to be done with a steady hand and a steady mind.</p><p>He shoves the thought of the possibility of his dreams altogether stopping at the very back of his mind and locks it up tight.</p><p>Prompto sits down on the same seat that his grandfather sat countless times before and begins to work.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i am back with my bullshit again and its been 2 years since my last proper fic please enjoy. i will try my best to update on a weekly basis so expect the next chapter next thursday!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Regis Lucis Caelum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prompto goes back to his apartment at around 9 pm. Not as much as going but more like just climbing up the stairs to the apartment above the shop. He unlocks the front door, removes his shoes, and lies down on the sofa stomach first. The place isn’t much to look at but it had enough room for the three of them. It has the kitchen and living room in the same area, two bedrooms, a single bathroom, and a small storage like space that Prompto claimed as his own bedroom when he and his mom moved in with his grandfather. The kitchen space was larger than the room and he spent more time in the living room than inside of it but it was his space alone. It was the nearest room to the kitchen too so that was a plus.</p><p>He admits it freely to himself that the room’s too close walls made him uneasy at times but he didn’t want to be a bother, especially to his mom. Even now that she was long gone, he couldn't make himself leave the room. With her and his grandfather buried six feet under for years now, he still can’t move into <em> any </em> of their rooms.</p><p>Prompto buries his head into his arms and lets out a long breathy sigh. He doesn’t like spending much time alone in the apartment. Too many memories and too little people. It’s gotten too quiet now, even with the steady hum of the ceiling fan. He never knew how to deal with long bouts of silence since he was so used to living with people. His mother’s soft humming, his grandfather’s continuous muttering. So he spends most of the day downstairs inside the shop where there is always some form of noise to keep the silence at bay and there are always toys to make and repair. Being busy meant being loud. This place hasn’t been home for a long while.</p><p>Home is not the sparse apartment above the shop. It is not the place where he removed everything that reminded him of his mother and grandfather, leaving a bare and cold place behind. Home is his mother's quiet smiles and warm hugs. It is his grandfather's weathered hands and booming laughter. It is the scent of coffee in the mornings and the scent of chamomile tea in the evenings. It is a time where he cannot return to, a place he can never have again.</p><p>Prompto gives himself a minute to wrangle up his thoughts and feelings. It has been three years since their deaths and he still can’t stand the silence they left in their wake. Deep breaths, in and out. <em> You’re here and they are not and that’s okay</em>, he tells himself. </p><p>
  <em> You're gonna be okay. </em>
</p><p>After that, he stands up and turns on the radio on top of the kitchen counter just a few steps away from the couch. He turns to a channel that his grandfather always tuned in while working on his toys and lets the soft notes of a piano fill the silence. He grabs two eggs to boil. A simple dinner of egg sandwiches is easy enough to make, quick too.</p><p>He shreds some cabbages while the eggs cook. Once the eggs are peeled and mashed, he mixes them together with mayonnaise and a little bit of mustard. Salt and pepper. His mom often made this when he wasn’t in the mood to eat anything else and he’ll take any comfort he can get.</p><p>With his grandfather’s favorite channel playing and his mother’s egg sandwich in his hand, he sits down to eat on a plain wooden table and runs a hand on its smooth surface. He feels a strong pang of wistfulness run through him.</p><p>He should get the wooden table they had before out of his grandfather’s room, huh. It isn't pretty, that old rickety paint-splattered table, but it was <em> their table. </em>   It just sits there, collecting dust along with all the things he shoved into their rooms that were <em>theirs </em>in a fit of grief, things that he can’t force himself to donate because it was theirs, okay, and filled with so many memories. It has been years, the apartment has felt so empty for so long.</p><p>Prompto cleans up after finishing his dinner and retreats into his too-small room and lays down on his bed. Maybe he can force himself to make the apartment less cold, less bare. Maybe he can step into their old rooms without bursting into tears. Maybe he can finally pick apart and deal with his grief instead of leaving it to fester. Maybe, maybe, maybe.</p><p>Maybe this time he won’t be a coward and finally let himself make a <em> home. </em></p><p>It has been <em>years </em> and Prompto feels like waking from a trance-like state their deaths left him in. Ever since the soulmate dreams began, he feels a little bit more human, a little bit more real.</p><p>He closes his eyes, his back humming in discomfort, and dreams.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A great blue sky and an even greater lake are what greets him when he opens his eyes. He has a fishing pole in his hands and beside him is the man he has labeled his soulmate’s father in his head. A father-figure maybe? Or at least someone that was a parental figure in their life.  Like clockwork, he feels the rush of love-respect-comfort that greets him whenever he sees the man. Whoever the man actually is, Prompto will always think of him as his soulmate’s father. This dark man with even darker clothes that his soulmate loves so deeply that Prompto himself has learned to love The Man too.</p><p>The lake is clear enough for him to see the reflection of the fishing pole he is holding. He looks at the sure grip of his hands, a small trickle of fear that was not his soulmate’s making itself known. He refuses to believe that the last dream-memory was his soulmate’s last and takes the plunge, leaning over the clear water to view his reflection. What greets him is a reflection of his teenage self. Blonde hair, blue eyes, chubby cheeks. The relief that courses through his veins is so strong that the memory almost fades before his eyes, cutting the dream short. He reigns himself in, however, and settles down to enjoy the quiet that is provided to him after the last dream-memory he had.</p><p>You never view your soulmate themselves, it's always as if you occupy the space itself as a placeholder. Whatever age they are translated to what age <em>you, yourself </em>is in. It's weird and makes zero sense and Prompto will never understand Gods but he still sends a word of thanks that his soulmate was alive and well <em>and alive. </em> </p><p>The memory isn't as clear as it usually is but all he feels from it is contentment. He sees that The Man is talking to him but he hears no words, just a sense of amusement and love. They spent what felt like hours like that, talking, and just enjoying each other's presence. Prompto understands not a single word but basks in the feeling of warmth that radiates from his soulmate. The Man abruptly gives Prompto a look of shock and he feels a strong tug from his fishing pole. It's almost instinctive, reeling in the wire, and he lets the memory run its course. One minute he was tugging, giving as good as he gets, and another he has a big slimy fish in his hands.</p><p>The Man gives him a proud smile and Prompto feels pride bloom in his chest. He turns to The Man, opens his mouth, and suddenly finds himself opening his eyes to a very familiar ceiling and the energetic chimes of his phone’s alarm.</p><p>It’s already 6 am, huh.</p><p>It’s so much of a habit that he disables his phone’s alarm without looking. He stares at the ceiling. His soulmate was alive and apparently knew how to fish. They were alive and they liked to fish with their father. They were alive and still loved their father so deeply that Prompto has come to accept that maybe he also loves The Man after a handful of memories with him.</p><p>His soulmate was alive. Alive.</p><p>Alive.</p><p>Prompto feels a slight burn behind his eyes and presses his hands on his face. He inhales and exhales shakily, a whimper making its way out of his mouth. His soulmate didn’t die as a kid and he feels a huge swell of relief that brings him to tears. He laughs and lets out a sob in the same breath.</p><p>Alive and happy.</p><p>He lays there on his bed, filled with so much happiness and relief with the fact that his soulmate <em> didn’t die as a child. </em> He is so, so relieved. He feels so very thankful that for once his dreams broke out of their pattern of showing his soulmates memories chronologically and showed him that <em> yes here is your soulmate, years older, happy and content and with their father. </em></p><p>Prompto stands up, not caring for the drying tear tracks on his face, and makes his way to his mother’s room. He doesn’t think much about what was inside of the room but there is one thing he has to get from his mother’s dresser. He opens his mother’s door, making a beeline to her dresser, grabs a crocheted afghan on the bottom drawer right on top of her scarves, and leaves as quickly as he entered.</p><p>He leans on the wall right across from her door and stares at the afghan he took. It was as blue as the sky in his dreams. He sees his hands shake, his breathing quickening, and feels his knees give out on him. He stares and stares and oh, he’s crying again.</p><p>Prompto clutches the bright blue afghan like a lifeline. He buries his face in it, sneezes, and lets out a watery laugh. It smells very, very musty. He stays there in the hallway, right in front of his mother’s door with his knees on the floor and shaking like a newborn kitten.</p><p>His shaking stops in what he feels like hours. He stands up and makes his way to the bathroom, rubbing his face with the back of his shirt on his way.</p><p>After all, if Prompto wanted to use the afghan he has to wash it first.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Prompto doesn’t do his regular morning run this time. He feels too emotionally drained for it and would rather have a nice filling breakfast after a nice warm shower. A filling breakfast translates to toast, runny eggs, and an apple. He finishes it in record time and leaves the afghan to air dry before he makes his way downstairs. It was way too early to open the shop so he settles down in the workshop to sew in some eyes on a handful of bears. He flips the sign to ‘open’ at exactly 9 am and moves the sewing to the counter, ready to help customers at a drop of a hat.</p><p>It’s another slow day and he feels very thankful for it. It lets his mind wander, the sewing habitual and mindless. After the bears are done and placed in storage, he feels the need to make a small fish charm for his soulmate. He doesn’t think twice about it so he pops in the workshop to grab what he needs. A crochet fish would be a nice little project and he thinks he still has a crochet kit stored somewhere. He is his mother’s son and what his mother loved most wast crocheting.</p><p>It was a quick find and Prompto feels somewhat confident in his crocheting skills. He looks up the basics of crocheting and begins on a simple pattern to see if he still remembers how to do it. So he sits there behind the register, leaving his work now and then to help a customer. He lets out a small cheer when his fumbling becomes more and more like crocheting.</p><p>He looks up a fish pattern on his phone and starts on a simple, flat goldfish shaped pattern. With googly eyes, of course. He chooses the deepest blue that he has and slowly but surely follows the step-by-step instruction video he found. It takes at most 40 minutes to finish his first fish, it wasn’t that good too. Kinda wonky in some places but it’s cute. He snaps a quick picture, captions it with a ‘not a bad first attempt!’, and sends it to Aranea.</p><p>He helps a frazzled customer to find a very pink stuffed bear for her niece’s princess-themed birthday before starting on the second one. His second attempt is a lot better but still wonky, some of his stitches were way too loose. He still snaps a quick picture to send to Aranea, though, captioning it this time with a ‘getting better! :)’ and settles down on his most likely last attempt.</p><p>Aranea doesn’t reply much during the days but he doesn’t mind. She’s busy, both of them often are, and he knows that she only checks her personal phone when she’s finished with work.</p><p>That doesn’t stop him from sending her updates like the good friend he is.</p><p>He takes a break for lunch and buys bagels in the cafe nearby. He begins his third attempt right after lunch. In and out the hook goes and no customers come in during the whole process. Prompto settles in on a rhythm, muscle memory kicking in and he finishes in half the time his first attempt took, and this time, the fish he made actually looks very decent. He runs a thumb over the stitches, glues in a googly eye, and snaps a final picture to send to Aranea. He captions it with a simple ‘done!!!’.</p><p>He loops a string on its tail and loops that string on the little charm nook of his phone case. Both he and his soulmate caught a fish today and he lets out a small giggle in how silly that sounds. </p><p>Still, its something he feels kinda happy about to share with his soulmate.</p><p>He shakes his head and cleans up his materials. He picks up the two wonky fish, makes his way to the workshop to store his crochet kit, and places the fish on a shelf he likes to call the ‘shelf he leaves practice projects on’. It’s mostly filled with silly little projects and experiments that Prompto didn’t want to scrap or throw away and it served as a reminder to how far he had grown as a toymaker.</p><p>Prompto grabs a bundle of small clothes for stuffed toys and dolls on his way out to work on. He is still in a sewing mood and the shop’s inventory of clothes for toys needs a little bit of renewing. So, killing two birds with one stone. He works on adding details on the almost done clothes until closing time and places the finished clothing in the shop’s storage. He renews inventory, cleans up the shop, and goes into the workshop to work on wooden building blocks this time. He still has a few sets he ordered left unpainted and what better time to work on them than now?</p><p>He receives a reply from Aranea after he finishes a set. It is a simple reply of ‘This better be not like the chickens.’ which makes him laugh out loud. He asks her if he can call and instead of getting a reply, Aranea calls <em>him.</em> Prompto feels pleasantly surprised, they didn’t get to talk much yesterday because Aranea had plans and only swung by to pick up Dog. He tells her about the fishing dream/memory which prompted the fish charm while he works on the second set of blocks. He goes quiet after the story, needing to focus on his painting while Aranea tells him small bite-sized stories about her team. After a while, she goes quiet too, and the clack-clack of her nails on her laptop and the scratch of a pen becoming a comforting background noise for him.</p><p>They say their goodbyes when he finishes his third set and he makes his way upstairs. The apartment is still too quiet and too empty and that won’t change anytime soon but he now has his mother’s afghan to place on the couch to brighten up the place, even just a little bit. Prompto heats up leftover macaroni and cheese in a pan with evaporated milk, a little trick he learned from his mother to avoid clumps of cheese.</p><p>He settles down on the couch, a bowl of macaroni in his hands and the blue afghan on his shoulders. Prompto turns on the tv, catching the second half of a movie he vaguely remembers watching before and basks in the comforting scent of fresh laundry.</p><p>If he tries hard enough, he smells a whiff of his mother’s perfume.</p><p>When the movie ends, he cleans up and leaves the afghan on the couch. He settles in for the night and sleeps a dreamless sleep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Prompto dreams more and more about The Man for the following weeks and this time his dreams didn’t seem to follow a chronological order. The memories keep no pattern he can figure out but the only thing constant was The Man. He was always busy but he made time for his soulmate when he can. Prompto still dreams sometimes of eating alone in a too big table but this time he has his phone on and The Man’s voice bringing him comfort. Prompto rearranges his idea of his soulmate, they were still lonely, yes, but they were also so very loved.</p><p>The dreams' odd shift wasn’t the only change in his life though, Prompto also began to sell little crocheted keychains. He keeps them hanged on a rack beside the register. Mostly of fish, yes this was another chicken figurine incident please stop laughing Aranea, but he has began to learn other easy patterns. He now keeps a jar of ‘failed and wonky crocheted keychains’ on his shelf.</p><p>Surprisingly, the keychains were a hit with kids. He had dealt with enough resigned faces of parents when they reach the register and their kids excitedly pointing on the rack to keep a steady supply going on. He sells them cheap since they’re small, easy to make, and mostly made of thread.</p><p>Prompto easily making them while manning the cash register is also a big plus.</p><p>He had just started making the beginning stitch on his fourth fish of the day, a very bright yellow this time, when he hears the bell ring and automatically gives the customer a quick “Welcome!” before continuing his crocheting. In and out in the first layer. He looks up when he hears footsteps and the click click click of a cane nearing the counter and places down his hook and thread, ready to help his customer in any way that he can.</p><p>His grandfather had drilled into him a good work ethic and this shop was his first before it ever became Prompto’s.</p><p>There is something about the man that instantly put Prompto at ease. Dark greying hair, green eyes. He’s dressed sharp too, reminding him of Aranea. The man looks familiar and somehow, inexplicably, Prompto feels <em> safe. </em></p><p><em> Stop being weird, </em> he berates himself and gives the man his warmest smile.</p><p>“What can I do for you today?”</p><p>The man’s serious-looking face softens around the edges. “You offer toy repair, correct?” he asks.</p><p>Prompto feels as if it was more of a statement than a question but powers through. He always keeps in mind that his customer’s time is important and it is better to be direct and straightforward. “Yessir. We offer toy repair and restoration services, just bring along the toy in need of repair and I’ll do an appraisal for free.”</p><p>The man says a clear “Good.” and brings a paper bag he was holding on top of the counter, takes out a pale blue stuffed fennec fox as big as Prompto’s head, and places it beside the bag. It is badly worn down, patches of fur and an ear are missing. It also had a huge hole in the middle of its head. It’s brown bead eyes needed replacing too.</p><p>Prompto mutters a quick request of taking the toy, already reaching his hands out before it passes his lips. When the man gives a nod, Prompto carefully brings the toy closer to him and turns it over. The tip of its tail is torn off, the fur had to be completely replaced. After turning it over a few times he places the fox back on the counter and lists to the man all the replacements that have to be done.</p><p>“Do you have any reference pictures that I can use?”</p><p>The man nods and pulls out his phone. It doesn’t take long for him to pull up a photo of the doll. Prompto’s initial design isn’t far off but the red horn in the middle of its head where the hole is surprising, to be honest.</p><p>Prompto hums, the pale blue fur isn’t something he has on stock. He has to order it and it might take days for it to arrive. “I don’t have the color of the fur in stock so it might take longer than usual for me to restore the toy, a week at most.”</p><p>“I would like to keep the color of the fur as close as possible, waiting for a week or so would not be a problem.” the man says, clasping his hands on top of the counter.</p><p>Prompto nods and offers his hand for a handshake. “Prompto Argentum at your service! I’ll be taking care of the toy for its stay.”</p><p>The man takes Prompto’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Regis Lucis Caelum.”</p><p>Prompto grabs a business card in a glass bowl and offers it to Caelum, “Please send me the reference picture once you’re able and I’ll be regularly updating you on the toy’s progress using that number. Any changes you want to do too. What’s the toy’s name, if you don’t mind me asking?”</p><p>Caelum takes the card offered to him and neatly places it in his pocket. “Carbuncle.” He answers. “He belongs to my son.”</p><p>Prompto gives him a smile, “I’ll be sure to take extra care of Carbuncle then, he seems well-loved.”</p><p>"He is."</p><p>Prompto and Caelum discuss how much the restoration will take and a simple contract is drawn. Caelum agrees to pay for the service upfront and Prompto rings him up.</p><p>The fish keychains on display catch his eye, however, and Prompto ends up adding two charcoal grey fish keychains in his total. It catches Prompto off guard, a man like Caelum didn’t seem to be a keychain kind of man but that’s just him being judgemental.</p><p>He’ll take it as a sign that adding crochet animal keychains to the shop is a good idea.</p><p>Caelum leaves as calmly as he arrived. He leaves a business card of his own for Prompto. He picks up the black, elegant card and runs his hands over Caelum’s name.</p><p>Regis Lucis Caelum, huh.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes enter regis hello old man</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Gladiolus Amicitia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i would like to issue a formal apology for not updating for 2 months with an almost 5k chapter please forgive meee</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prompto finds himself greatly enjoying repairing Carbuncle. Once the fur he ordered came in, he even surprises himself in how much he finds stitching Carbuncle together comforting. Yes, he doesn’t deny that restoration is one of his favorite parts of his job but this sense of joy is low key, high key, ridiculous. It feels like how he felt when he was doing a project for his grandfather or making a figurine for his mother. This steady hum of giddiness and pride and exhilaration is almost intoxicating and Prompto has to sit down and actually sort out the reason why because it’s <em> weird .</em></p><p>He doesn't find any actual reason why and decides that he can deal with it later.</p><p>It's a Sunday and he just finished giving Carbuncle his new fur and the little guy looks leagues better. He unlocks his phone to check the time and lets out a soft curse when it reads 1:45 PM.</p><p>He forgot to eat lunch, too focused on stitching Carbuncle together.</p><p>Prompto shakes his head and places Carbuncle on the workshop's table, giving him a pat on his head as Prompto stands up. It's not too late and he can easily swing by the cafe right across from the shop. He deserves a little breather too, he's been working on toys since 8 AM and he feels a little sore from staying hunched up for too long. He stretches and groans when he feels his back pop.</p><p>He feels pins and needles crawling up his right leg and remains seated until it becomes manageable. He stands up, grabs his keys and a small crocheted keychain, and makes his way to the cafe.</p><p>The cafe right across from the shop is homey. Neutral colors and dark brown wood. Potted plants here and there. Not many patrons inside today, he notes, but it <em>is </em> a Sunday and way past lunchtime. He makes his way to the counter and Prompto gives out a sunny grin to his favorite barista.</p><p>Iris beams right back at him.</p><p>"And good afternoon to you too! The usual Prom?"</p><p>Prompto nods, glances at the pastries they have in stock, and says, "the usual plus one blueberry muffin that's begging to be in my mouth."</p><p>Iris let out a light laugh and adds it to his usual order of wild berry tea and an everything bagel. He pays and gives her an obvious wink when he places a few bills inside the tip jar. He sees Iris shake her head but she has a fond, albeit exasperated, look. She's been working to help out her dad save up for college and Prompto will help as much as he can too.</p><p>He waves at her as he makes his way to a seat near a window, knowing that she'll make her way to him when she's free. It's a nice day, the sun shining bright but not painful, and he plans to enjoy the rest of it now that he managed to drag himself away from making toys.</p><p>He loves making toys but he loses time when he's too focused. It is easy to lose in the rhythm of making something, in the quiet comfort of doing something he knows he's good at. He likes working with toys. The kids won't know that their toys were made by a hand with too thin wrists and too pale skin. When working with toys, Prompto isn't the kid who lost his family way too young, isn't the person who has trouble speaking about things that weren't toy making, isn't the man who struggled to even talk out loud. With toys, he isn't the anxious mess he tries so very hard to hide. He isn't someone who has let grief take over him, cutting almost everyone away from his life in a desperate move to have control.</p><p>And by the gods what a mood he's in today, huh?</p><p>Prompto shakes his head, slouches over the table, and buries his head in his arms. There's this feeling of sadness following him since waking up, even after an energetic jog to clear his thoughts and spending a few moments wrapped around his mother's afghan. It's what pushed him to work with toys so early, and maybe another reason why he lost track of time. It isn't the soul dreams, the most recent one being his soulmate pestering their father in his office and for once succeeding in dragging him out to enjoy the weather instead of being shooed out.</p><p>And it definitely isn't because of his <em> dream </em>dreams. He hasn't had a nightmare, hasn't had even remotely creepy dreams. But still, this heavy weight in his chest persists and he has no clue how to fix it.</p><p>Prompto snaps out of his thoughts when he feels a hand ruffle his hair. He doesn't lift his head from the table but turns it to see Iris standing next to him with his tea and food. He gives her a small smile.</p><p>"You didn't have to bring it all the way here you know, you could've called me."</p><p>"You looked like you needed a minute," She sets the tray on the table, sits across from him, and tilts her head, "What's up? You look tired."</p><p>He sighs, "Shouldn't you be working?"</p><p>"And leave you in this corner to brood? Nope," Iris pops the p, "and <em> it is </em> a slow crowd today, I'm sure Talcott can handle it for a few minutes."</p><p>Prompto groans and returns to burying his face into his forearms. He feels Iris' hand pat his head in a consoling manner but knowing her, its equal parts consoling and teasing.</p><p>"You okay?" She asks after a beat, lifting her hand from his head and taps the table with the tips of her fingernails.</p><p>His "I don't know?" comes out muffled but he doesn't quite feel like lifting his head yet. He knows Iris will get this sad puppy-eyed look on her face and he'll be forced to spill his secrets. Even if he doesn't know what secrets he ends up spilling. Head will remain on the table and his forearms for his safety, then.</p><p>"I've been in this funk since this morning, I don't- I'm not sure how to explain?" He continues, halting in some parts. Prompto honestly doesn't know why or maybe he doesn't want to admit why, even to himself.</p><p>Iris makes a cooing sound. "Try then."</p><p>He shakes his head and realizes that without lifting it, he's just rubbing his cheek against the table. He groans. "I feel sad but not? I guess nostalgic, no, melancholic?" He lifts his head and rests it on his right hand.</p><p>He was right, Iris was giving him the sad puppy eyes. She stops tapping and crosses her arms, a thoughtful look on her face.</p><p>"Huh, maybe it's because of a current restoration thing that you're doing?" She asks.</p><p>Prompto shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe, it sucks." He slumps towards the table, even the fruity smell of his tea isn't doing much for him.</p><p>Iris tsks, "I can see that, got some extra honey for your tea to cheer you up."</p><p>Now that he isn't becoming one with the table, there is an extra packet of honey just beside his cup. He smiles at Iris and finally straightens up. "You're the best Iris."</p><p>She winks. "I know."</p><p>"Mhm, smug about it, aren't you?"</p><p>"Yup!" She nods, as if very proud of herself.</p><p>Prompto laughs, feeling much better, and waves his hands towards the general direction of the counter. "Shoo, leave me to brood in peace."</p><p>She giggles but stands up. "Holler if you need me, okay?"</p><p>"Yeah, yeah and oh, before you leave- almost forgot," Prompto digs through his left pocket and fishes out a crocheted keychain. "Here."</p><p>He gives it to Iris. "You said you wanted a keychain, made an iris for Iris."</p><p>Iris holds the small keychain with both hands. She smiles at him, the corner of her eyes crinkling in delight. "Prompto! This looks really cute, thank you!"</p><p>He smiles back at her, fondness settling in his chest. "Think of it as your reward for being a nuisance."</p><p>"The best nuisance," she quips.</p><p>"The best."</p><p>Iris returns to the counter with a spring to her step and Prompto settles in. As usual, he takes a picture of his food. A picture that he will absolutely send to Aranea, of course. He likes taking pictures of things and Aranea is just very lucky to get a glimpse of his artistic vision. Well, not a glimpse and more like getting an image of almost everything that he finds interesting but she hasn't killed him for it so Prompto takes it as a go signal from her.</p><p>If he's lucky and she's in a giving mood he gets a reply of her flipping him off, food, or her co-workers/friends. He has a folder specifically titled 'From Aranea' because he is such a good friend and absolutely not for blackmail purposes. He swears it isn't.</p><p>Who was he kidding? The photos Aranea sends him isn't enough for blackmail, he's just very sappy and likes having a part of her, of their friendship, saved in his phone.</p><p>Prompto enjoys the low buzz of the cafe, taking his time with his tea and food. Even with the few patrons, there is still chatter here and there. Prompto does not listen to the context of the chatter and just enjoys the noise of people and activity. He sees Iris showing off her keychain to Talcott and he feels pleasantly warm at the gesture.</p><p>The shop does still get too quiet sometimes so Prompto enjoys escaping to the cafe when he can. The familiar faces of the staff puts him at ease, the decor of the place relaxing. He feels the sad-but-not-sad feeling wash away the longer he stays at the cafe, the tea, food, and environment doing wonders. </p><p>The next thing Prompto had to do for Carbuncle was the eyes, right? And then the horn? Or should he do the horn first and then the eyes?</p><p>Prompto pulls up the image of Carbuncle that Caelum sent. It's kinda unfortunate that he wanted the exact replica of the old toy, the red horn was absolutely obnoxious. In a charming way, Prompto supposes, but still very obnoxious set against the light color of Carbuncle's fur.</p><p>The kid holding Carbuncle was adorable though, with his toothy grin and dark hair. The kid isn't a kid anymore, probably, going off with how old Prompto thinks Carbuncle is. The kid is as old as Prompto is now, give or take a few years.</p><p>Prompto smiles. What Caelum is doing for him, for his son, is a very heartwarming thing to do. One of the reasons Prompto loves restoration jobs so much is it's usually done out of love.</p><p>He zooms in on Carbuncle after taking a bite out of his muffin. He needs to do the eyes first before doing the horn so it would be easier to eye where the horn is supposed to be. Or horn first and then just eyeball where the eyes should go? Maybe. He hums and makes a move to sip from his cup.</p><p>Oh, it's empty already.</p><p>He sighs, locks his phone, and makes a beeline to the counter. Iris greets him with a sunny "Hey!”</p><p>"Hiya, can I have more hot water for the tea?" He lifts up his cup.</p><p>"Sure thing! Not too hot?"</p><p>"Please."</p><p>Iris takes the cup from him and Prompto leans on the counter and unlocks his phone, doing the horns first and then the eyes would be a better decision. Or the eyes first and then the horn?</p><p>"Here you go!"</p><p>Oh, that's a thought. "Quick question Iris, eyes or horn?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Oh, sorry! It was for a toy,” he turns his phone, showing Iris Carbuncle, ”I'm having trouble on what to do first and you'll be the tiebreaker. So, eyes or horn?"</p><p>She hums. "Horn, I guess?"</p><p>"Gotcha, thanks!"</p><p>They both glance at the entrance when they hear the door open, the bell above it jingling and rising above the chatter.</p><p>It's Gladiolus.</p><p>Siblings, Prompto remembers, and it's rare for him to pop in the cafe. Iris and Gladiolus share the same brown hair and eyes, though Gladiolus' eyes are on the lighter side, and that's where the similarities end. Gladiolus is built like a tank. Tall, bulky, and tattooed. From what Prompto recalls from what Iris has told him, Gladiolus is like Prompto's grandfather. Tough on the outside, and tougher still on the inside. They both have this fierce need to protect, setting high standards for themselves, and setting the same standards to their loved ones. As harsh as they are, their love is loud and brash and even harsher still.</p><p>Maybe he's right, or maybe he's just projecting based on what little he knows of Gladiolus.</p><p>Even with the few times Prompto has seen him, Prompto is still taken aback at how huge and intimidating Gladiolus is. It is hard to think that this man is comparable to his grandfather, weathered man he was, but Iris isn't the sort to lie about family even in her most mischievous moods.</p><p><em> And that's my cue to leave </em>, he thinks. He doesn't wait for Gladiolus to reach them and goes back to his spot by the window. He does give Iris a small wave before leaving though.</p><p>Prompto settles in his seat. Now that his head is a lot clearer he's ready to go back to the shop.</p><p>There is still tea to drink and food to finish first though, and then he'll finish fixing up Carbuncle. Horn first, naturally.</p><p>Or eyes first? </p><p>No, no. Horn.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By Monday, Carbuncle is as good as new and ready for pick up. Prompto already sent Caelum a picture of a newly restored Carbuncle last night and the man was satisfied with what he sent. Caelum should be picking up Carbuncle today, after lunch.</p><p>Inspired by the iris he made for Iris, Prompto is currently working on crocheting flowers instead of animals. He had already done a few daisies and cherry blossoms which immediately went to the rack, so now he's working on gladiolus blooms. Partly inspired by Iris again but mostly because they were pretty and he had little to no knowledge about flowers. He only knew this type of flower existed because of her brother. </p><p>He already finished one, a shade darker than the violet he used for Iris', and it is definitely pretty. The pattern he's using is a little complicated, particularly because of the overlapping petals, but doable.</p><p>His phone vibrates and oh, Caelum won't be picking up Carbuncle today. He'll send someone to pick him up tomorrow, though.</p><p>By the time closing comes, Prompto had finished 2 other gladiolus blooms all in the same shade as the first one and stitching in the nose of a handful of bears. After doing his closing routine he makes his way inside the workshop.</p><p>Prompto has wooden building blocks to paint this time, and maybe finish up the clothes for dolls he keeps putting off. They're too small so it's a pain to stitch, he should've just ordered them instead of doing it all from scratch and called it a day. It's a gamble when ordering them though, and his grandfather preferred to make clothes himself. A preference that seems to have rubbed off onto Prompto.</p><p>It won't stop Prompto from complaining. The injustice of it all.</p><p>Painting, stitching, and then dinner. The motions familiar and habitual, Prompto enjoys the mundaneness of it all.</p><p>He settles into bed, closing his eyes. </p><p>What greets him when he opens his eyes is a grand room with a high ceiling and tall windows. The black and gold theme of his soulmate's home is prominent still, so Prompto assumes that he's inside whatever building his soulmate's home is.</p><p>It takes a moment to register that another person is right across from him. A teen? With dark brown hair. His face is a bit foggy and hard to discern, as most faces in soulmate dreams were, but Prompto feels a rush of frustration and fondness for the person.</p><p>The teen also has a huge fuck-off sword in his hands and woah-</p><p>He blinks and he feels himself dangling off a sword buried into one of the huge pillars of the room, just moments after the teen had swung his huge sword after him.</p><p>What happened?</p><p>He blinks. He finds himself flying across the air, the sword he had in his hands clanging with the teen's. A flash of teeth and then suddenly, he's flat on his ass with the seriously intimidating sword pointed at his chest.</p><p>Booming laughter follows and Prompto startles so bad that he finds himself bolting up from his bed.</p><p>What? Where? Oh gods, what was<em> that? </em></p><p>Prompto stares blankly ahead, unable to actually process what just happened. He can actually hear his mind chugging with the information. Was it possible that it was an actual dream instead of his soulmate's memory? Some convoluted mess of fantasy and sci-fi birthed from one too many late-night movies? No, no it can't be. Prompto knows what soulmate dreams feel like and this definitely is one of them.</p><p>So, swords. And apparently some form of teleportation? What else?</p><p><em> Oh. </em>Something clicks.</p><p>Add weapon summoning and literal monsters to the list. Or maybe just half-snake ladies. Maybe add elemental magic too. He was so caught up with the near-death of his soulmate that he almost forgot what actually happened during that horrible night. </p><p>Prompto buries his head in his hands.</p><p>Why was this his life?</p><p>He jolts when the peppy chimes of his alarm blare through his phone and he scrambles to turn it off. Prompto sighs and gets up, he can't keep putting off his running every time he has a revelation when it comes to his soulmate. He changes, drinks some water, laces up his running shoes, and runs off.</p><p>The early morning breeze is refreshing and the steady beat of his feet against concrete is reassuring. Not only is his soulmate very important but it seems that they had led an entirely different life with entirely different rules. Not that magic was unheard of, the whole soulmate phenomenon reeked of magic, but the scale that his soulmate had control over is unheard of in recent times.</p><p>Magic is a dying art. Even the most magically talented people cannot compare to what was considered magic before the ‘Long Night’. The Great Calamity, Eternal Darkness, whatever it's called. Even with Prompto's subpar memory with history, even he knows that recorded knowledge before the very long, no good, absolutely abysmal and almost eternal darkness that the Long Night plunged the world into is scarce and spotty at best. Everything was in ruins. So much that even til now there is still heated debates whether or not it was actual history or just a legend that grew and grew until it was regarded as truth. </p><p>The line between reality and fiction is almost non-existent when talking about the Long Night. That's how Prompto sees it, anyway. But history was his worst subject, he couldn't be too sure. It is a mystery, or he just has the worst memory.</p><p>What he's sure of is that all of this is giving him a headache.</p><p>Prompto returns his focus into running, there is plenty of time to look it up and think about it later.</p><p>He lets the rhythm of the city and his feet against the pavement do the thinking for him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Prompto refuses to think about the whole mess of who exactly his soulmate was during work. He focuses on the easy motions of sewing, painting, crocheting, restocking, helping. Any motions and activity that will keep his mind and hands busy. The hours pass by and before he knows it, it is almost closing time.</p><p>Whoever Caelum sent never swung by to pick up Carbuncle during the morning, again, but Prompto did receive a message from Caelum describing who he sent. In a very odd turn of events, it was someone named Gladiolus doing the picking up. Prompto hopes it was not the Gladiolus he knows but based on who Caelum described, dark brown hair and light eyes, then the possibility of it being him is very, very high.</p><p>The bell rings and Prompto stops his motions of sewing an arm to a bear. A familiar intimidating form enters.</p><p>Well, it definitely is the Gladiolus he knows. It is almost comical how much the image of Gladiolus does not fit inside the colorful soft mess of the shop.</p><p>"Welcome!" Prompto chirps.</p><p>Gladiolus makes his way to the counter, a small furrow in his brow. It lightens when he nears Prompto, as if in realization. "Oh,” he starts, and Prompto never met a person who’s voice matches with how they look as much as Gladiolus’ does, “you're that kid who hangs around Iris."</p><p>Prompto lets out a light laugh. Does he really look that young? "Definitely not a kid but Iris <em> is </em> a friend. Gladiolus, right? How can I help you today?"</p><p>"And you’re the Prompto she keeps yammering about. I’m picking up something for Regis Lucis Caelum, he said he told you about it."</p><p>Prompto hums in agreement and waves his hand in the direction of the workshop. “Let me grab Carbuncle, then. Be back real quick."</p><p>He leaves as soon as he sees Gladiolus nod and makes a beeline to the room. He grabs Carbuncle. He walks back as quickly as he left and he catches the tail end of Gladiolus surveying the shop.</p><p>Gladiolus’ eyes snap to him when he reaches the counter and then drifts to the fox in his hands.</p><p>"Carbuncle?”</p><p>Prompto hands the fox to Gladiolus. "Yeah, Caelum had him restored."</p><p>"You did this?" he asks, his thumbs running through and fro against Carbuncle’s soft light-colored fur. Prompto won’t hold it against him, the fur he used on Carbuncle is a bit pricey but is of really good quality.</p><p>There something almost fond in his tone and Prompto melts. Or was it teasing? Either way, with how Gladiolus is holding Carbuncle, Prompto thinks that Caelum was right, Carbuncle is very well-loved even after all this time.</p><p>Prompto smiles. Gods, restoration is always an experience to remember. "Yup! The little guy was in a state when Caelum brought him in. I did my best."</p><p>Gladiolus clears his throat, a touch embarrassed. He places Carbuncle on the counter. "Not bad."</p><p>"Thank you. It was fun, working on Carbuncle. Toy restoration is a favorite."</p><p>Since the restoration is already paid for, all Gladiolus needs to do is tie loose ends that Caelum was supposed to do. Nothing too taxing, just signing a release form and making sure that the quality was what the customer expected. Standard stuff and no longer than a minute or so.</p><p>The whole process goes swimmingly.</p><p>Except-</p><p>"Gladiolus blooms?"</p><p>Prompto feels embarrassment warm his cheeks, of all the days for Gladiolus to come to the shop. "The thing is- Well- I did an iris for Iris as a gift,” he stumbles over his words, “one thing led to another and now I guess I also sell flower keychains. Surprisingly, I don't know much about flowers so I went with what I thought of first. So, gladiolus blooms." he says in a rush, voice pitching a bit higher near the end.</p><p>Prompto is mortified and Gladiolus looks very amused.</p><p>“I’ll take one.”</p><p>That’s surprising but Prompto is still so caught up with his mortification that he only squeaks out a “thank you?”</p><p>That’s that, Gladio pays for the keychain and leaves Prompto very embarrassed and probably a bit red. He honestly just thought of doing gladiolus blooms because it was one of the first flowers to pop in his head. Why didn’t he do lilies or roses instead? He can’t even recall what a lily looks like but it would definitely be better than whatever he had experienced with Gladiolus.</p><p>He spends a few moments hunched over the register, his head buried in his hands, but he has a shop to close and floors to clean and toys to restock.</p><p>Prompto does his routine and spends the rest of his time assembling bears and other stuffed creatures.</p><p>Now here he is, in his living room slumped over his phone, his mother’s afghan on his lap, looking up magic.</p><p>He was right that magic is a dying art. Even the most powerful of magic cannot compare with what constituted as magic before the Long Night and even then, some believed they were still stronger than what they could ever comprehend to be. It was a mess of royalty and prophecies and bloodlines and just-</p><p>They are ramblings of madmen in tin foil hats pages deep within an unknown forum but <em> what if- </em></p><p>There are things he knows and things he does not. He knows what type of wood is best for carving little figurines made for children, knows that palm trees aren't trees at all but are grass giants. He does not know how to waltz, does not know why the sun sets red. He knows that he wants to be held, to know that he is safe and loved and home. He does not know where he would find a feeling like that, the only people who could hold him like that have been buried deep within the ground for years. He wants so badly to find his soulmate, to be loved and loved and loved. He knows when they meet, they'll find him so very lacking.</p><p>Just the very thought digs into the soft parts of him and Prompto <em> aches. </em></p><p>How can you compare with a person that was destined for greatness when the greatest thing you've done is barely survive the aftermath grief? Not even then, he thinks, with the empty apartment and the scratchless table he has to replace the one before it.</p><p>Prompto knows, gods does he know, that his soulmate wore a heavy crown weighed with responsibility and duty and glory. How can he compare to that? How can he stop a heartbreak that he knows would happen when they do meet?</p><p>Not all soulmates end up together. Not all soulmates are good and beautiful and wonderful. His mother refused to explain why she wakes up in cold sweat, why she screams in her sleep, why she refuses to hold or even be near blonde haired and fair-skinned children except for her own son. She hid the way her hands shook when she touches him after her nightmares, always to grab his arms so she could look at his wrists, and she hid the way she vomited if she sees him immediately after a very bad one. But Prompto saw, no matter how hard she hid these things out of love, and he knows that he reminds her of his father.</p><p>Her soulmate.</p><p>With what little his mother was willing to tell Prompto who Verstael was, what Prompto knows already is enough to know that Verstael's past life was <em> bad </em>. When they met and Verstael saw the person he was, it destroyed him. Little by little. Verstael loved Prompto's mother, loved her enough to build a life together, to have a son, but what he did in his past life haunted him. </p><p>He left, suddenly, when Prompto was 7. </p><p>They look so much alike and Prompto loves his mother so very much for never faltering. She sold their house, too many memories, and moved in with her father. She squared her shoulders and <em> moved on. </em> She may flinch away from Prompto when the days are bad, the same haunted look in her eyes that he's seen in Verstael's countless times, a look that seared itself in Prompto’s memories, but she always, always lets him know that she loves him.</p><p>He never missed her as much as he does now.</p><p>Yeah, okay, he needs a minute or two or he'll end up bursting into tears. He itches to return the afghan to her drawer but he can't. He wants to make this place home again, wants to let go of his grief and finally move on. But moments like this, moments where he aches and longs for comfort and love and wants everything that was easily handed to him by the people he loved who no longer can, make him want to remove everything they have loved and touched and left a piece of themselves in.</p><p>He is just a man who continues to let grief consume him and his soulmate bears the weight of greatness Prompto cannot comprehend the enormity of. </p><p>How can he compare to that?</p><p>Prompto sighs, his whole body deflating with the motion. He turns off his phone, plunging the room in total darkness. He lies down on the sofa, wraps the afghan around him, and closes his eyes.</p><p>Baby steps, he thinks, all he can do are baby steps. If he wasn’t enough for his soulmate now, and this is the truth, then he’ll make himself be <em> enough. </em></p><p>That’s all he can do, really.</p><p>Prompto is going to sleep, going to dream, and by the Gods when he wakes up he's going to try his damndest to be <em> better </em> . But for tonight, just tonight, he lets all his insecurities and fears and utter heartbreak for never being quite <em> enough </em> swallow him whole.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and that's gladio! iris honestly just popped her way into this and i love that for her. my motivation to write is as reliable as the weather which is... very unpredictable. now that classes have resumed, I can't promise an exact date of me updating and i am very sorry about that. thank you, for still joining me in this mess. i really appreciate it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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